


Tarantism

by orchidbreezefc



Category: Marvel 616, Wolverines (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 01:14:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3958939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchidbreezefc/pseuds/orchidbreezefc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tarantism (<i>n.</i>)<br/>The urge to overcome melancholy by dancing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tarantism

**Author's Note:**

> From a word prompt on Tumblr by my dear friend [Sylibane](sylibane.tumblr.com). The post got more notes than I usually get for a fic, and people seemed to think it was cute, so I figured I'd post it here.
> 
> Takes place during the ongoing series Wolverines.

“Daken.”

He doesn’t look around at her. He doesn’t react at all, which Laura supposes she should not exactly count as encouraging, but she does count it as an opportunity to continue. She goes and sits to the chair near his bed.

“I called–” she begins, but no, he will respond badly to that. If she tells him about that at all, she should at least start with something else. “I noticed your behavior lately,” she says instead, “we all have, actually. Victor and I are especially concerned, which I cannot account for his reasons, given his past behavior, but from his facial cues as far as I can tell his concern is genuine.”

This isn’t going anywhere. “We want to cheer you up,” she presses. Daken growls softly, like an irritable but sleepy cat.

“I thought,” Laura continues, leaning over a little to try to discern his expression in the dark, “since, as you are aware, I’m in a team with the original X-Men, and I am in a committed relationship of casual dating with Angel, which I might reiterate it is uncharacteristic of you to display no interest in this status of mine–that is, once, when I was upset, he took me dancing.”

She pauses expectantly. Daken doesn’t roll over like she had hoped, but he has seemed to go still, which she is somewhat familiar with as a reaction of fear. But it’s not like she knows these things for sure, and surely he is not afraid of dancing, so she optimistically thinks it might be an expression of interest. It is, at least, confirmation he’s listening.

Laura rallies. “So, that was when I called a friend of yours I know–” Daken stiffens, but she is determined to continue–”who said that previously in your company they had danced, and you seemed to enjoy it, so I thought it was a good idea to invite you to try.”

Daken turns around and squints at her with his one eye. She endeavors to look as encouraging as possible. “I don’t have friends,” he rasps. His voice is hoarse from disuse.

“You have one, at least,” Laura says. “At least, they consider it so. As I was saying, we have–”

“Who?”

Laura looks at him and calculates in her head. He props himself up on his arm to stare at her more intensely. She bites her lip. “I was under the impression that you two got along,” she says hesitantly. “The plan was for all of us to get together, being that I don’t know how fun I will be at a dance, and they are more comfortable in such an environment, but if you would rather–”

“Who is it, Laura?”

Laura looks at the ceiling. “I don’t believe I’ve told you this, but in the past I have associated with the Fantastic Four, in manners of–”

“Oh god. Johnny.”

Laura smiles, hoping that will help. “Yes. Johnny.”

He stares at her for a long moment. Then he is out of bed, rifling through his closet.

“The Mary Jane, right?”

“What?“

“The Mary Jane, the club. That’s where we’re going to go, right?” Daken is frowning at his clothes, picking shirts out and draping them over his arm, then picking out other ones and putting them back.

Laura doesn’t reply for a moment; she just blinks at him in surprise. “Well, yes, I–you–”

He turns around to her, holding out two shirts for her appraisal. “The red or the blue?”

Laura blinks again. Then she smiles, not forced this time. “The blue.”

Daken picks the red.


End file.
